The Journey
by Szark
Summary: While on a class trip to San Lorenzo, Arnold uses the map he found in his father’s journal to find out what really happened to his parents.


**Chapter 1 - **Another Day

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"Hey, Arnold! Hey, Arnold! Hey, Arnold!" The alarm clock buzzed repeatedly, eventually awakening the boy from his sleep.

He lay still, wrapped tightly in his warm covers with his head buried face down in his soft pillow. He rolled over onto his back and drew in deep breath after deep breath of the fresh air from the new day. For a fleeting moment the rush of the cool, invigorating air flowing through his system felt foreign and entirely new to him—almost as if he had just been in a state of deep unconsciousness for a long period of time.

Without any further hesitation, he ventured a hand out from under his covers and disabled the alarm.

He rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes as he lifted his head up out of the pillow and looked around, wincing at bright glow of the sun reflecting off of the glass panes of the skylight. An arrangement of shadow and light was slowly creeping down his bedroom walls as the morning sun gradually rose higher in the sky.

Dropping his head back into the comfortable pillow, he lay back and watched the sight. The warm, radiating glow of the sun's presence put a smile on his face.

After admiring the display for a few brief moments, he slipped out of his warm bed and made his way towards his closet, stretching his arms and flexing his body as he did.

As he stood buttoning up his red plaid shirt, his gaze began to idly wander throughout his room, examining and taking in every detail that composed his room. As his eyes passed over his desk, they suddenly became fixated on a single object lying on the right side of the desk, a large space dividing it from the rest of his stuff.

His attention had been caught by the only thing that taught him more about his parents—the object that helped him get to know them more—his father's journal.

The faded and cracked leather binding, the wrinkled, lightly sun-burnt colored pages, the tarnished brass clasp . . . all of these details a constant reminder of his parents' departure.

The smile on his face faded at the sight of the old book.

It had only been a few weeks since they discovered the journal in the attic that rainy Sunday afternoon. A surge of happiness coupled with a tingling sensation overcame him as he brushed the dust off the cover and opened it for the first time. The find seemed almost too good to be true. The stories of his parents' adventures safeguarded inside the book seemed unreal and fantastic to him. They made dealing with his parents' departure a little easier in his mind, but at the same time the stories also emphasized how deeply he wanted them to return.

He continued staring blankly at the book from across the room. A few moments passed before he found himself standing in front of the desk, gently lifting the object from its resting place. He held the journal tightly in his hands. The coarse feeling of the leather exterior under his fingertips caused his body to become covered in goose bumps.

As he stood there with his head lowered and his eyes closed, he wondered if he would ever see his parents again, whether he would ever find out what happened to them, whether they were still—he immediately realized what he was thinking and gave himself a kick for almost letting the thought intrude into his mind. In an attempt to forgive himself, he mentally promised to himself that he would find them; he would find a way to get to them—to reunite with them.

'_I promise._' He whispered. A lone tear escaped his eye, trailing down and dropping off his cheek, shattering on the cover of the journal.

As the words escaped his mouth he realized that he had lost track of time and at least fifteen minutes had gone by. He quickly snapped out of his current train of thoughts, finished dressing himself, picked up his books, and ran downstairs.

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"Hey, Grandpa. Hey, Grandma." Arnold greeted rather emotionlessly as he entered into the kitchen. "What's for breakfast?"

"Morning, Shortman. Pookie made us some . . . hmm…" Phil began as he stirred the bowl of thick green liquid in front of him with his spoon. "Actually, I have no idea what it is!" He laughed.

Unsure of what to make of Phil's reaction, Arnold reluctantly walked over to the table and positioned himself in a seat opposite Phil and sat quietly waiting for some breakfast. His mind once again became entangled in a myriad of thoughts.

"What's the matter, Tex?" The words suddenly jerked him back to reality. Slightly startled, Arnold looked up to be greeted by the smiling face of his Grandma. She was wearing her cowboy hat and complementary outfit that she wore when in the kitchen conjuring up her concoctions.

"You look miserable." The elderly woman stated. "Here you go; this should make you feel better." Surprisingly, instead of putting a bowl of seaweed soup down, she had placed a plate of freshly cooked toast and bacon and eggs in front of him.

Arnold looked up and gave her a smile. "Thanks, Grandma."

"What?!" Phil suddenly exclaimed, his hands on his head and his eyes wide in disbelief. "Why does he get that while I get this . . . this . . . whatever the heck it is?!"

Grandmas only reply was a maniacal laugh.

"Say, Arnold…" Phil began slowly after a few minutes of silence had passed. "…apparently the school bus broke down or something . . . and the car is in the shop . . . I'm afraid—" Phil was suddenly cut short by the sight of Arnold collapsing on the table and resting his head in his arms.

Arnold let out a gentle sigh. He knew what Phil was about to say, and he wasn't really in the mood for school, let alone walking there.

A look of concern crossed over Phil's face. "Is there anything the matter?" He asked as he scratched the back of his head. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Don't worry about it, Grandpa." And with those words he jumped out of his chair, picked up his books, left the boarding house, and began the walk to school.

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Arnold planted his feet firmly at the top of the concrete stoop in front of P.S. 118—the climb to the top seemed much more exhausting than usual. He shrugged off the thought, simply attributing it to exhaustion from the long and uneventful walk to school.

He proceeded towards the large double doors and placed his hand on one of the handles protruding from the doors, pausing as he was about to turn the handle. _'I shouldn't let anyone see me like this.'_ He thought. _'It wouldn't be fair making them worry about me; I don't want to lay my problems on their shoulders.'_

With those thoughts he let out a sigh and straightened his cloths and books, attempting to clear himself of his current disposition. After a few moments of refreshing himself, he pushed the doors open and entered in.

The familiar voice of Principal Wartz crackled over the intercom as Arnold absentmindedly walked down the old halls of P.S. 118. He couldn't help but carefully observe every student he passed: the playful smiles on their faces, their mischievous grins as they interacted with each other, their looks of contentment as they brushed past him—the happiness that must be in their lives.

Still lost in his musings, he continued down the halls and towards his locker. Turning around a corner, his vision suddenly flashed random shades of various colors and he consequently found himself lying on his back, an agonizing pain now coursing through his head. He had collided with something. He let out a hoarse grunt as he rubbed his head, trying to suppress the pain.

Adjusting his body into a seated position, he looked up to see who or what had knocked him down. Not to his surprise, opposite him lay the same bully with the pink dress and matching bow that had tormented him for most of his life, Helga G. Pataki.

Helga immediately sat up, her eyes wide in surprise. "A-Arnold!" She stuttered, throwing both her hands over her mouth. "I m-mean watch where you're going, Football Head!"

"Oh, gee . . . sorry, Helga." He mumbled the apology as he collected his scattered books.

"Yeah . . . well, sorry ain't good enough—hey, what's this?" She asked as she reached over and picked up an old leather-bound book that lay near her side. "Looks like some kind of journal…" She spoke as she curiously handled object.

For the most part, Arnold hadn't been paying much attention to her, but he immediately froze as her last word rang loudly in his ears. _Journal…_ His eyes instantly locked onto the object that Helga had in her grip—his father's journal. "_How did that get here?_" He thought nervously. _'I must have accidentally brought it along with my other books!'_ A look of horror was now on his face.

"Uhh . . . that's nothing. Please, give it back to me." He requested as he extended his right arm towards her.

"Ha! And what makes you think I'm going to give it back to you?" She questioned as she continued examining the book, beginning to try and open it.

The thought of _Helga G. Pataki_ looking inside of his father's journal instantly triggered something inside of Arnold and he immediately sprung towards her, eagerly trying to yank the book from her grasp. "Let go!" He demanded through clenched teeth.

They struggled painstakingly, both of their faces stretching and contorting as they lurched back and forth like they were engaged in a game of tug-of-war, each trying their best to win the trophy.

Helga's seated position did not lend itself well to the struggle. He was physically stronger than she ever imagined and she could feel her strength rapidly fading against his. He almost had it. She acted fast, lifting her right foot, she thrust it into Arnold's stomach, causing him to stumble backwards and fall over.

She wasn't at all proud of what she had just done, but as she was, she would rather not risk damaging her reputation as the matriarch of P.S. 118 than show any kind of weakness toward her one true love in public. Even if that meant giving something back that was already his to begin with.

Arnold quickly jumped to his feet, the fall only a minor deterrence to his main objective. "Why can't you just give it back?!" He shouted as his visage twisted in agitation.

Helga sat in silent awe, blinking her eyes a few times in surprise. She had never seen him act this way before. There was no doubt in her mind, she had gone too far this time—she had hit a nerve.

She quickly swallowed the lump that was apparent in her throat and jumped to her feet. "Fine." She conceded, throwing the book at Arnold, who managed to uncouthly catch the item. "You know, you really should keep your head out of the clouds once in a while!" She spat, trying her best to recover from the situation as she stormed off.

He paid no attention to her parting comment; all he concerned himself with was the fact that he had gotten the journal back and that it hadn't been damaged during their unpleasant encounter.

Looking around, he didn't realize it at the time, but a small group of students had gathered to observe the struggle, all with looks of confusion on their faces. He picked his books up and silently walked away from the embarrassing scene.

After a few moments of walking along, greatly distressed that his mortal enemy had almost looked inside of the journal, he eventually reached his locker. Positioning himself in front of it, he placed his books under his arms as he opened the metal door and began sorting through the items inside.

"Hey, Man!" A familiar voice spoke from behind him.

Arnold turned around to see his best friend standing there. "Oh. Hey, Gerald."

"What's up? How are you doin'?"

"I'm fine. I just had another run-in with _Helga_…" He stated with a slightly irritated tone, emphasizing her name rather distastefully.

"Yeah, I noticed. How's your head feeling?"

"It's OK. It's just a little sore, that's all." He said as he briefly rubbed his head and continued sorting through his locker.

"I'll bet. How are you feeling, apart from that?"

Arnold raised an eyebrow as he turned and looked at Gerald, slightly perplexed as to why he continued asking the same questions. "I'm feeling fine. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno…" Gerald began as he leaned against the locker beside Arnolds and crossed his arms. "…maybe it's just me, but you seemed a little out of it, even before you ran into Helga."

"Huh? I did?"

"Yeah—what's on your mind?"

"I don't know what you mean. I'm fine."

Gerald didn't buy into this answer for a second. He could sense that something was wrong, even if Arnold wasn't going to admit it. "Alright man, if you say so. Just remember, if you ever need someone to talk to, who better than your best friend?" Gerald smiled reassuringly as he placed a hand on Arnold's shoulder.

"Thanks, Gerald. It's—" He began, immediately being cut short by the ringing of the bell. "Come on. We'd better get going." Arnold suggested as he pushed his locker closed.

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Helga slammed the door behind her as she entered the large blue house. It seemed empty and devoid of any life inside the building, which was no surprise, seeing as no-one really lived in or took care of the place.

"Miriam! I'm home!" She shouted as she looked around. The house was dark—the only lighting came from the kitchen entrance and what little sunlight crept in from behind the curtains. "Oh wait . . . what does she care anyway?" She thought aloud with her right index finger on her chin. She shrugged.

Turning towards the flight of stairs she quickly ran up them and into her room, once again slamming the door behind her.

She flicked the light switch on as she entered her room and tossed her bag to the side. She walked over to her bed and kneeling beside it, she sat down on the floor and pressed her back against the side of the large bed.

Helga nervously looked around the room and over her shoulders, double-checking that there was absolutely no-one in the room with her. "You're in _your_ room Helga ol' girl, _your_ room. Force of habit, don't worry. OK, no problem." She nervously argued with herself, thinking she was going slightly mad.

Reaching into her white shirt she gently pulled her golden locket out from the secret pocket that she had added onto the inside. It was—of course—pieced together with nothing less than various pieces of his clothing that she had gathered over the years. The bulk of it being that sock she took from his room that one time. Oh, sure it smelt, but it was his smell, and that was all the better in her mind.

"Oh, Arnold!" She sighed as she slowly ran her right index finger along the sparkling edges of the golden locket. "Why am I doomed to forever haunt your footsteps? Will I never be able to break free from these shackles and confess to you my undying feelings of love and compassion that so yearn to escape my heart?" She questioned aloud as she closed her eyes and clutched the locket tightly to her chest.

Feeling the need to express herself, she put the locket away and reached up onto her bedside cupboard, bringing down a pen and one of her notebooks. Lowering her head, she clicked the pen and put the pink tip to the white paper, whispering the words softly to herself as she wrote.

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Arnold

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Forever you will be,

the bearer of my torment,

the object of my affliction.

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Never you will be,

mine to hold,

mine to love.

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Forever you will be,

the light in my eyes,

the essence of my being.

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Never you will be,

there to hold me in your arms,

there to love me with your heart.

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Eternally you will be,

my heart,

my pain.

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She lifted her head up and rested it against the bed. Holding the book out in front of her, she was a little confused as to what to think of her latest piece. "It needs work, but I guess it has _something _at least. It's still not as good as the rest of my stuff, though."

Closing the book she pushed it to the side and her mind drifted back to the scene that happened earlier in the day. She couldn't understand why he would react that way when he saw her holding that book. The anger that was present on his face . . . it wasn't him. It sent a chill down her spine.

She had purposely avoided him for the rest of the school day after that incident. No spitballs. No pranks. Nothing. Nada. She feared that any further interaction with him would have had unfavorable results.

'_What was in that book…?'_

'_Why was it so important to you…?' _

'_Why did it cause you to react that way…?'_

The same three questions constantly spun around in her mind, taunting and mocking her. The only logical conclusion that came to her was that it must have been something extremely close to his heart to evoke such a reaction from him, the quiet, optimistic, and always bright-side looking kid.

"I must find out what troubles you . . . I must!" She proclaimed as she hastily jumped to her feet. "I need a plan! Think, Helga! Think!" She scolded herself as she paced around the room, stroking her chin with her right index finger and thumb as she did.

"I know!" She exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "I could—hmm . . . nah, that won't work…"

Several minutes of constantly circling the room and discarded ideas quickly passed.

"The least I could do is go and tell him I didn't mean to hurt his feelings . . . in a roundabout way, of course." She laughed hesitantly. "Oh, who am I kidding?! I can't do that, especially not to him! He'll probably think I'm joking around and I'm about to clobber him or something!"

"Criminey. This is going to be harder than it sounds, and it already sounds hard enough!" She concluded as she sat down on the edge of her bed and continued to carefully plan her next move in her mind.

"Helga…?" The awkward voice of her mother came from downstairs.

She rolled her eyes. "Coming, Miriam!"

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Arnold walked alone along the sidewalk in the direction of the boarding house with his hands in his pockets, kicking the odd loose stone or stray piece of garbage to the side.

'_Maybe I was a little too harsh on her… After all, it was my fault for accidentally bringing the journal to school. I should go and apologize to her._' He thought as he slowly ran his right hand through his hair.

"Hey, Arnold . . . Arnold! Wait up!" The words suddenly came from behind him. Arnold shot a glance over his shoulder as he walked along to see Gerald racing along the sidewalk, trying to catch up with him. Arnold continued walking for a few moments before he heard Gerald's footsteps sounding on the concrete behind him.

"Hey, Man. How come you left school without saying anything?" Gerald questioned as he came up beside Arnold.

Arnold slowed his pace to a halt and turned to face him, scratching the back of his head. "I don't know . . . I guess I was just too wound up in my own thoughts that I forgot."

"Well, about earlier . . . I didn't mean to sound pushy or anything, I'm just worried about you, that's all." Gerald spoke as he placed a hand on Arnold's shoulder.

Arnold smiled. "That's ok, I understand."

"Do you want to go to the arcade, or maybe Dino Land?" Gerald asked.

"No thanks, not today." Arnold responded as he started walking again.

Gerald raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're ok?" He asked as he entered into a short sprint to catch up.

Arnold chuckled. "Yes, Gerald."

"Alright man, if you say so."

An awkward silence fell over the two as they continued walking along towards the boarding house. Distant sounds of thunder rumbled through the sky.

"Pretty strange isn't it, Arnold?" Gerald broke the silence.

"What's that, Gerald?" Arnold asked as he looked towards him.

"You know, being in the fifth-grade. I know it's been a few weeks already, but it just feels . . . strange. It almost seemed for a while there like we were going to be in the fourth-grade forever and we'd never move on."

"Yeah…" Arnold sighed. "We had a lot of great times while in the fourth grade, though, didn't we?"

"We sure did, buddy." Gerald acknowledged. "Remember that time when you dropped your grandpa's watch down that construction hole, and we had to get it back from that strange guy in the sewer? That was really freaky."

"It sure was. Grandpa actually ended up dropping it down the sink as soon as I gave it back to him. It turned out he had a whole draw full of them in the end, though."

Gerald clicked his tongue. "Sad."

"Or how about that time when you hung out with that jerk who only wanted to use you to break into that store? And I ended up saving you? What _were_ you thinking?" Gerald asked as he began laughing.

"Oh, Please! Don't remind me!" Arnold laughed as he remembered the whole crazy affair.

Not wanting to be the only one receiving flak for their past experiences, Arnold quickly searched his mind for a few seconds when a devious smile suddenly formed on his face. "Oh—oh! Remember that time I taught you how to ride a bike? That was great . . . wasn't it, Gerald?" Arnold mocked laughingly as he slapped Gerald lightly on the shoulder.

"Touché, Arnold. Touché."

They continued laughing and reminiscing about their past adventures in the fourth-grade for about fifteen minutes before they reached the old stoop in front of the boarding house.

Loud sounds of thunder suddenly rumbled through the clouds above them, only moments before a light rain began to fall around them. Arnold looked up at the dark sky and then back towards Gerald. "Do you want to come inside for a little while, at least until the rain stops?"

"Nah, Man. I think my mom needed my help with something after school, so I really should be getting home." Gerald stated as he held his hand out to Arnold and they did their trademark handshake.

"Catchya later, Arnold!" Gerald shouted over his shoulder as he turned and began running home. Arnold stood smiling as he watched Gerald disappear down the sidewalk into the thin blanket of rain.

Arnold turned and climbed the stairs in front of the boarding house. As he started pushing the door open he noticed a light cloud of smoke began escaping out of the space between the door and its frame. The sight of the smoke put a look of worry on his face and he quickly pushed the door wide open, immediately noticing that the whole room was filled with a smoky haze.

He hastily scanned the boarding house lobby and saw that the smoke was coming from what appeared to be several lit tiki torches placed at the back of the room. With his sudden fears alleviated, and the smoke now clearing, he noticed that the whole room had been through a complete transformation and was now decorated with objects of an African tribal theme.

He cautiously walked into the building and closed the door behind him. Only moments afterwards, a thick aroma of various herbs and sages suddenly overwhelmed his senses, almost causing him to gag. He quickly covered his mouth and nose with his forearm.

Looking around and examining the transformed interior, he noticed that several shields and masks of various designs were now hanging on the walls and that drums and other strange furniture were placed throughout the room. Furthermore, a number of strange symbols had been painted on the walls surrounding the kitchen doorway and a veil of beads had been placed to cover the kitchen entrance.

Arnold walked towards the kitchen, hoping to find someone in there who might be able to explain what was going on and why. He placed his hands through the beads and as he divided them apart he was greatly surprised by the sight of a figure adorned in a tribal outfit and mask sitting atop a totem pole in the centre of the kitchen with its legs crossed.

The figure's costume was made from what appeared to be a silky material, and was covered in a bright yellow and blue diagonal checker pattern. Its mask was of a simplistic design, thin and tall, made from a dark-coloured wood with several tiers of ornaments hanging from the masks ears.

"Welcome, Chidi, my young greenhorn." A voice spoke from behind the mask.

Although the voice was obscured by the large tribal mask, it was still recognizable to him. That, coupled with the fact that the whole African thing wasn't beyond the realms of something she would do. He took a few steps closer to the figure and the totem pole. "Grandma…?" He ventured a guess.

"Some refer to me by that name. But, you may call me by my spiritual name—Adanna the Great, leader of this tribal people."

"Adanna...? What's happening, Grandma? Why have you done this to the boarding house? And what's with all this Chidi and greenhorn business?"

"My people came to me with concerns of spirits inhabiting our dwelling, and as their spiritual leader it's my responsibility to perform this sacred ritual to purge our native grounds of these evil spirits!"

"Spirits? Rituals?"

"Well, yes!"

Arnold sighed and turned around. "I'll be in my room..."

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**A/****N:** Yeah, that's right, another TJM inspired fiction. :P

I started writing this back in mid-February when I finished watching the series for the first time, but I soon shelved it when I found out I was pretty damn crappy at writing. Now, having spent some time practicing writing, I decided to try and finish it. So, over the last week or so, I pulled it down off the shelf, spent some time to clean it up, and now, here we are.

Overall, this chapter ended up being a bit random and a mish-mash of various things, but I think it does a fairly good job at beginning the main story arc and reintroducing the reader to the world and its characters . . . not that you probably need reintroducing, but you get the idea :D

I'm still not happy with how a few things turned out in this chapter, but I decided to heck with, and just submitted it anyway or else I'd be forever poking and prodding it! I'll learn from my mistakes next time around, and hopefully future chapters will be better.

But anyway, I think that's enough of my ramblings.

If you enjoyed reading this chapter, please, R&R!

**P.S.** Early pre-read by Pyrex Shards. Thanks, mate!


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